


Shadowland

by mskullgirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Psychological Torture, Ramsay is his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mskullgirl/pseuds/mskullgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon is uncomfortably aware of Ramsay’s eyes as they rake over his naked chest. Everyone knows what the bastard of Bolton likes to do to servant girls but surely he wouldn’t… (Based on some of the events of the Outlander Series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scream

      The first thing Theon realizes once he awakes is that he is not longer bound to that gods-forsaken cross. No, he feels a warm body propping him up into a sitting position. The stone floor is cold against his bare calves and he curls up closer to the person holding him. He feels something cold pressing against his lips and slowly he opens his eyes.

     “Mulled wine.” A familiar voice says. “Drink.” Theon knows it is the same man from before, the one who flayed his hand but he drinks greedily anyways, the alcohol burning its way down his throat. 

     “Ah ah.” Ramsay says, gently pulling the flask away and setting it aside. Theon whimpers at the loss but he is too weak to reach for it.

     “Let’s see it we can make you more comfortable.” Ramsay murmurs, drawing a knife from his belt. Theon’s eyes widen and he starts to moan in fear.

_      Oh please.  _ He thinks.  _ Not another finger. Dear gods anything but that. _

     Undeterred Ramsay places the sharp end of the blade at the place where Theon’s skinned finger meets his hand. 

     “This will hurt.” He says before bringing the knife down hard. The pain is agonizing, so intense that Theon finds the strength to roll from Ramsay’s lap, retching onto the floor, clutching his injured hand to his chest. He gasps for air, mouth sour with bile.

     “Shhh.” Ramsay croons, drawing him back into his lap, cradling his head in his arms. “Isn’t that better?” It is better, although his hand still hurts it is a more manageable pain than before. Rough hands brush the hair away from his sweat-soaked forehead. 

_      It’s a trick.  _ Theon thinks, trying to stay conscious.  _ He means to catch me off guard, hurt me when I am down. _

     He is uncomfortably aware of Ramsay’s eyes as they rake over his naked chest. Everyone knows what the bastard of Bolton likes to do to servant girls but surely he wouldn’t…

     “What a pretty little prince you are.” Ramsay breaths almost reverently, tipping Theon’s head up and leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. It is a soft kiss, gentle pressure against his cracked lips. Theon whimpers in distress, turning his face away from the man above him. The grip on his jaw tightens and soon Ramsay’s lips are back on his, his tongue poking at his lips. Theon does not respond, only closes his eyes and prays to every god he knows for this to stop.

     “Are you a blushing maid now?” Ramsay says when he finally pulls away. “I doubt you kiss your whores like that.” Theon shakes his head frantically, weakly pushing at Ramsay’s chest in an effort to stop him. Sighing, Ramsay hooks his arms around his waist and drags him over to a chair. The movement makes Theon’s hand throb and he cannot help crying out at the pain. There is a shuffling noise and when he looks up he sees Ramsay kneeling before him, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

     Theon jerks as he feels Ramsay undoing the laces of his threadbare trousers but his is far too weak to do anything to stop him. In no time the last remaining item of clothing is removed and Theon sits shivering in the cold air. In a useless attempt to preserve his dignity he presses his legs tightly together. He feels nausea twist in the pit of his stomach as Ramsay places his hands on his knees and spreads his legs. Slowly, so slowly Ramsay runs his hand up Theon’s thigh watching his face all the while.

_      Stop.  _ Theon wants to say.  _ Please don’t.  _ He squeezes his eyes shut and turns as far away as he can. He jerks sharply when rough fingers touch his cock and he cannot repress his sobs. He is soft, obviously, but Ramsay doesn’t seem bothered. The hand closes around him and squeezes him gently, moving rhythmically. 

     “How does that feel?” Ramsay asks, eyes trained on his face. “Does that feel nice?” Theon doesn’t answer just grunts in protest and stays still as possible. Although the hand continues to stroke him he remains soft, too hurt and terrified to become aroused. 

_      Perhaps he’ll get bored.  _ Theon thinks desperately.  _ He may think it’s too much effort and leave.  _ Suddenly a wet heat surrounds his cock and his eyes fly open to see Ramsay’s head bent over his lap, bobbing slowly up and down. He tries to ignore the warmth pooling in the bottom of his stomach, tries not to remember how it felt when Kyra or any of the other whores was did this to him. But Ramsay’s lips are soft and the sucking pressure is firm.

     “Oh!” He exclaims as a rough toung licks across the head of his cock. Gritting his teeth, he presses against his wounded hand, hoping the pain will distract him from the unwanted pleasure. He breaths a sigh of relief as he feels himself soften once more. Ramsay notices the change and sits back on his haunches, lips glistening obscenely.

     “Don’t make it so hard on yourself.” Ramsay says, looking up into Theon’s eyes. “I just want to make this pleasant for both of us.”

_      Liar!  _ Theon’s mind screams and suddenly anger flows through him. 

     “I am no whore!” He snaps. “Get your hands off me!” And he spits in his captor’s face. Amazingly Ramsay does not fly into a rage or scream or hit him. He looks vaguely annoyed but otherwise calm as he wipes the spittle from his cheek.  

     “We’ll see about that.” He says, sounding amused. Before Theon can say another word he is dragged to his feet and shoved over a wooden table, a hand pressed against his lower back to keep him still. He hears Ramsay undoing his belt behind him he finally breaks down sobbing, hands tearing at the wood. This is not happening, this cannot be happening to him. He hears Ramsay spit into his hand before fingers roughly smear it over his tightly clenched hole. 

     “No…” He moans weakly, trying to twist away to no avail. “No please-.”

     Before he can finish his plea for mercy he feels Ramsay’s cock slam into him painfully. He yelps feeling as though he is being torn in two, the spit doing nothing to ease the pain. Ramsay still as his hips press tight against Theon’s ass, a soft groan passing his lips. The respite is brief and soon Ramsay begins to fuck him in earnest.

_      It’s too big.  _ Th eon thinks as he gasps for breath.  _ Stop, stop, stop, oh god… _

     The table rocks as Ramsay begins to thrust harder, slamming Theon’s hips into the edge of the table. There is not a single inch of him that doesn't hurt. His injured foot makes it difficult to gain any leverage so he has no choice but to lie limp as a rag doll. Blood oozes out of the stump where his finger had once been, staining the table top almost black. And worst of all there's the burning, fiery pain of being that gets worse with every thrust. He sobs and screams as the movements grow more and more violent. 

     “That’s it.” Ramsay says, voice thick with pleasure. “Scream for me like a whore.” Unable to stop himself Theon screams and screams until the world dissolves into darkness. 


	2. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then are you mine?” Ramsay asks ever so softly, eyes fixed with Theon’s.

    The world reappears in painful fragments. Theon slowly realizes that he is cold, naked, and in more pain than he ever dreamed possible. He is lying on his side facing the wall, the stone floor cold and hard beneath him. Slowly he tries to shift his body enough so he can crawl but his nerves scream in agony. He quickly collapses, panting from the exertion and feels a sticky wetness between his legs. Somehow he turns his head enough to see the blood staining his inner thighs, the red harsh against his pale skin. The sight is enough to make him vomit again, turning toward the wall as his body convulses. To his horror, he sees that he has begun to retch up blood. 

    “Am I close?” He hears from behind him. “Have you reached your limit yet?” 

    Ramsay sits on the opposite side of the room, looking at the injured man with mild interest. At some point he had discarded his shirt and shoes and he sits against the wall in only his trousers. Theon can do nothing but gasp and sob like a child, clutching his maimed hand to his chest. After a moment he heard soft footsteps approach and suddenly Ramsay is looking down into his eyes.

    “What shall I do with you?” He asks but his voice is different than before. His face swims before Theon’s eyes and when the world finally focuses he finds himself looking into tully-blue eyes. He blinks rapidly is disbelief as he realizes that where Ramsay’s face was just a moment before a new face has appeared, a face framed with auburn hair and lightly dotted with freckles. Robb’s face. 

    For a moment Theon forgets to breath. How? How could this have possibly come to pass? He nearly cries in relief for even if Robb had come with the goal of ending his life it would be a blessed respite from this living hell. 

    “R-Robb…” He says horsely, reaching out his good hand towards that face he had caressed so many times before. His fingers tremble, mere inches from the heat of Robb’s skin but try as he might he cannot bridge the distance. 

    “What is his power?” A voice says from far away. “What possesses you even now?” Straining from the effort, Theon reaches forward another inch but even that is not enough. 

_     Robb.  _ He thinks desperately.  _ I was wrong, I was so wrong. I never should have left. I should have stayed with you. Robb I am so, so sorry.  _ All of a sudden the face before him blurs once again. The eyes grow paler and the hair darkens. In moments Theon is looking at Ramsay Snow’s face. 

    “Tell me.” His captor demands, leaning toward him. Theon’s eyes dart around the room praying for a glimpse of red hair but all he sees are the cold, grey walls of his prison. 

    “H-he’s gone.” He croaks, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side.

_     No! No, come back! Don’t leave me here! _ His eyes water and he cannot stop himself from sobbing brokenly. 

    “There’s no more Robb.”  Again he tries to roll towards the wall but Ramsay easily flips him onto his back. 

    “Then are you mine?” He asks ever so softly, eyes fixed with Theon’s. Theon groans, exhausted beyond measure. When he finally manages to focus his gaze Ramsay is gone and Robb stands above him once more. 

    “Are you mine?” Robb asks him, and there is such unbearable tenderness in his face. Theon wants nothing more than to stay in this moment but darkness has begun to creep into his vision. The energy to hold his head up becomes to much to bear.

    “Yours.” He whispers earnestly as the world dims. “Only you.” 

* * *

 

    He must have passed out again because the next thing Theon remembers is being dragged into a sitting position. 

    “Show me.” A voice says in his ear. He feels something being pressed into his good hand, something smooth and thin. The handle of a brand.

    “Show me you’re mine.” Ramsay repeats, tilting Theon’s head so they were eye to eye. A pale finger traces over the weaker man’s chest, indicating the spot to brand. Theon stares at his captor with disbelief, breath quickening. He remembers the stables at winterfell, remembers how metal brands were pressed into the fire until they were red hot, remembers the sizzling sound of cooking flesh. Most of all he remembers the noise the animals made when the burning metal touched them, the high pitched, desperate screams. 

    Ramsay is already guiding the glowing brand towards him, clearly expecting Theon to finish the job. 

_     “R”.  _ Theon thinks.  _ He means to brand me with an “R” for Ramsay.  _ He feels bile rise in his throat and he is ready to put up as much of a fight as he could when an image of Robb’s laughing face crosses his mind. Robb, his best friend. His ONLY friend. The person who means the world to him and he may never see again.

_     “R” for Ramsay.  _ He thinks.  _ But also for Robb. I do not think I would mind it so much, being marked as his. At least I will have something of him left to carry with me.  _  Decision made Theon musters all his remaining strength and falls forward onto the brand. 

    He knew it would hurt, he had been burned before but he wasn’t prepared for the raw, agonizing pain that seems to consume his entire body. The brand falls to the floor, rolling away and Theon feels arms wrap around him, pulling him into his tormentor’s chest.

    “Shhh.” Ramsay croons to him, stroking his sweaty hair. “I’ve got you now.” 


	3. Lavender Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “These are Robb’s hands.” Ramsay says. “Think of Robb. Think of your brother.”

    Theon is awakened by the sound of water hitting stone and for a moment he thinks it is rain on the roof. But when he opens his eyes he sees the hazy figure of Ramsay pouring a bucket of water over himself. His eyes slowly adjust enough for him to make out his torturer’s naked back, the muscles contracting as he lowered the bucket to the floor. Theon’s eyes follow the water as it runs over Ramsay’s torso and down his legs, washing away his prisoner’s blood. 

    As if feeling eyes upon him Ramsay turns and gives Theon a curious look. He is completely naked, moisture clinging to his skin. 

_     Funny.  _ Theon thinks as unconsciousness once again took hold of him.  _ At one time he might have found him handsome.  _

* * *

_     “Seven hells Stark!” Theon hisses as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here?” Robb stood awkwardly in the doorway, giving his friend an imploring look. _

_     “I’m scared.” He says, fidgeting nervously. “It’s noisy and I can’t sleep.” Seconds later a loud crack of thunder shook the castle. Robb yelped with fright and scrambled across the room to Theon’s bed. _

_     “Can I sleep with you?”  _

_     “No.” Theon mumbled, pulling the covers over his head. Robb ignored him of course and soon the two boys were curled together under a pile of furs. _

_     “It’s just a storm.” Theon scoffed as Robb shivered beside him. “You’re almost 8 for Gods sake.” _

_     “Shut up.” The younger boy said half-heartedly, eyeing the window with suspicion. They lay there silently for a minute before Theon sighed and wrapped his arm around Robb’s shaking shoulders.” _

_     “Hey,” He whispered, tugging him to his chest. “It’s alright. I’m here now and I will always protect you. Okay?” _

_     “You promise?” _

_     “I promise.” _

* * *

 

    “Breath in.” A voice says from very far away. A sweet, aromatic fragrance fills Theon’s nostrils and he gladly breaths in deep.  The smell is herbal, fresh, and oddly familiar. Confused, he slowly opens his eyes to see Ramsay holding a small vial under his nose.

    “That’s oil of lavender.” He says, slowly lifting Theon’s maimed arm and laying it gently to the side. He tilts the vial over his hand, pouring a generous amount of oil into his palm all the while focused on Theon. He dabs his finger into the substance and lightly traces it over the burn on Theon’s side. The injured man winces but the oil did do something to ease the pain. He vaguely remembers hearing something about the healing properties of lavender from Maester Luwin. 

    “These are Robb’s hands.” Ramsay says. He spreads a bit of the oil over Theon’s nipple, causing it to harden beneath his hand. “Think of Robb. Think of your brother.” Instinctively Theon obeys him, mouth falling open slightly as the rough fingers trace lower. Robb’s fingers would be rough and calloused from sparing but he would touch him gently, shyly as if he were afraid of breaking him. In his mind’s eye Theon sees Robb looking down at him, blue eyes raking over his body hungrily. He sees the pink flush across his cheeks and the way he bites his bottom lip in anticipation. Moaning softly at the image Theon feels himself getting hard. 

    Ramsay clearly notices and ever so slowly he removes his hand and leans down until he presses his lips against Theon’s. 

_     Robb’s lips would be soft like this.  _ Theon thinks hazily.  _ Like satin and so incredibly warm.  _ This time he returns the kiss and chases after it when the lips leave his own. He feels himself being turned on his side before oil is poured directly on his cock. A moment later a hand wraps around him, stroking slowly but firmly. The oil makes the touch wet and smooth and Theon feels his eyes roll back in his head as pleasure burns through him. All too soon the touch is withdrawn and he moans at the loss, trying to reach his uninjured hand down and continue.

    “Wait for me.” Ramsay says quietly, rubbing the last of the oil between his palms. Theon ignores him, slowly stroking himself as best he can as Ramsay applies the oil to his own cock. He doesn’t stop when Ramsay moves so that he is lying behind him, nor when the other man deliberately bends down so his dark hair can brush over Theon’s lips. 

    “Robb’s hair.” Ramsay says, eyes locked with Theon’s. Tentatively Theon raises his injured hand and brushes his fingers over the locks. In the torch light they almost look red. He feels Robb’s chest against his back, feels his stubble against his shoulder. He gasps as he is suddenly breached although the oil makes it more uncomfortable than painful. But despite the discomfort he moans as the man behind him begins to move because it is  **Robb** and this is everything he has ever dreamed of made flesh. He glances over his shoulder and finds himself looking into lust filled blue eyes.

    “Say my name.” Robb says quietly, driving his hips forward. For a split second his face morphs into Ramsay’s and it is enough to shock Theon into silence. 

    “Say my name.” The man groans and it is Robb’s voice, Robb’s cock stretching him open. Theon’s hand speeds up on his cock and he arches his back against the broad chest behind him. 

    “R-robb.” He says at last, and he feels himself unconsciously pushing his hips back to meet the thrusts. A broad smile crosses Robb’s face and a hand teasingly trails down his spin and encircles his cock. It is almost too much to bear, the hot slickness of their two hands, the pleasurable burn as Robb’s cock fucks into him. For one moment all his pain fades away and all Theon can think is harder, faster, more, more, oh gods… With a guttural cry he squeezes his eyes shut and comes hard over his own stomach just as he feels warm wetness release inside him. 

    As he comes down from his high the real world comes rushing back to meet him with sickening clarity. The brand on his side begins to throb and he knows that if he were to turn around he wouldn’t see Robb, only Ramsay Snow buried deep inside him. 

    “No.” He says in horror, praying to the old gods and the new that this was all some horrible dream. But the pain of his hand is sharp and real, not to mention the wetness dripping down his thighs. He had been fucked by the man who tortured him and he had  **liked** it. The last sliver of pride he possessed crumbled and Theon buried his face in the crook of his arm, sobbing like a child.

    “I understand.” Ramsay said, voice heavy with fake pity. “How could he ever forgive you?” He rubbed Theon’s back soothingly in some sick parody of caring while the broken man cried and cried and cried. 


End file.
